


No Thieves Welcome

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Asshole Hvitserk, Dark, Dark Hvitserk, Deception, F/M, Graphic Description, Hvitserk's Heathen Feast, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Period Sex, cherry lollipops, dark!Hvitserk, obsessive - Freeform, possessive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-07 00:38:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16843654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: When Hvitserk’s crush turns him down for his lesser, illegitimate brother Magnus, Hvitserk snaps his shit.





	1. Jealousy Hurts

[](https://66.media.tumblr.com/1e152113cb99164203479a379e021dcb/tumblr_pg4rbhBWLo1v19l0n_500.jpg)

The cafeteria was rowdy where Hvitserk sat, his arm lazily draped over his brother’s girl Margrethe. His leather jacket kept him warm in the cool Danish air, even inside where the faulty heater was whirring out dusty air.

“Who’d you get stuck with Hvitserk?” Sigurd says over the faux table littered with empty snacks. Hvitserk pops the can to his soda pop.

“What?” He says, sticking his chewing gum on the outer aluminum rim.

“Who did Floki stick you with in science?” Sigurd asks again.

Across the cafeteria he saw her. The girl in question— beautiful curves sitting behind your cute little powder pink skirt and a warm grey hoodie that did nothing to accentuate your breasts like it should have. Your head was hung. The adorable “individualistic” pink streaks of your hair twirling around your finger as you spoke to the boy next to you. Doing that stupid thing where you brought it against your cheek and tilted in flirtatiously.

“(Y/N)?” Margrethe asks. “Really?”

Hvitserk flinches turning back to his meal. “Yep.”

“It’ll be easy then.” Ubbe pats his shoulder encouragingly. For a good reason– it should be easy to get this girl to let it loose. If there wasn’t that boy hanging over your shoulder showing you something from his book that you quickly speak to him about.

Classes were broken up by class. From the most basic to the advanced– and you had tested high. The last year of high school and you still had a full load. As did Hvitserk, though he was much less devoted to his studies than you were. Hvitserk’s eye follows as the boy offers you his hand. Being the slight quiet thing you were, you took it. You took it and let his worthless ass take you out of the cafeteria. Probably to rock your sweet little pussy behind a line of bushes.

“Hvitserk!” Margrethe suddenly shrills.

He realizes that his grip was tight enough to leave harsh bruising under her shoulder. Margrethe rubs over the bruising when Hvitserk stands, smacking Ubbe and Ivar’s shoulders.

“C’mon.” He slurs, plucking a lollipop from his jacket.

* * *

“Do you think that he’s going to test us over the equation?”

You could never let school lay. Your best friend Magnus had his hand in messy blonde hair, waving this way and that way and really all over the place against a thin blue rim of his eyes. He shoves his hands into his front pockets, wandering with his hand laced in yours. 

“Dunno. Be prepared for anything, right? Isn’t that what you say?” Magnus says, spinning you around like a top a few times. You’re dizzy enough to puke– coughing and laughing all at once.

“Of course it is!” You smile, hands on your bare knees as you lean over to gain your stability. Your backpack feels suddenly heavy on your back, filled tight with text books and notebooks and god! The notes!

“I want to go to his office before the test. Are you coming with?” You take the heavy pink galaxy designed backpack off of your shoulders, sore by the weight.

“Na.” Magnus rubs his fingers through his blond hair. “That kinda stuff makes me all kinds of doomy before tests. Can’t you be talking about the dance?”

You stretch up to stand with your notebook to your breast. Then, of course, you curl a piece of hair around your index finger. “I… I don’t know if I want to go anymore.”

Magnus stops mussing his own hair at that, looking around to see why. There are other students in the breezeway talking in large groups. Since he could remember, it had been you and he alone. Magnus pulls you by your elbow out of the breezeway to the stairs leading into the vocational building. You climb the stairs and drape the stone guards. Magnus sits behind you, pulling up his dark jeans and dragging his pure white t-shirt to cover his butt.

“Why don’t you want to go? You love to dress up and dance.” He asks.

“Well…” You begin, looking around your shoulders. One way– then another. “Hvitserk Ragnarsson asked me to the dance.”

Magnus’s eyebrows climb his forehead, wrinkling with tension at the news. “He did? Shit, I knew he always wanted you. So he’s taking you. That’s great.” Magnus says awkwardly, balking out into an awkward laugh at the end of it all. You lack his humor.

“I always go with you, Magnus. You’re my best friend.” You murmur. “Of course I said no. I told him I’d go with you.”

You said no… to a Ragnarsson. For him.

Magnus knows from that moment that this means trouble. No one says no to a Ragnarsson. No one challenged a Ragnarsson. The colour had might as well have drained out of his face. If you said no to Hvitserk…

“But he understood!” You sit up completely straight, clasping your hands together. You tease Magnus’s cheek with a grey painted nail. “So pick me up tonight, okay? I’m gonna go see ol’Harald!”

“Uh… of course.” Magnus agrees when you kick off from the stone and onto loose gravel.

“Bye!” You say, trotting on your grey sneakers off toward the right toward another building: the technology building where all the science, mathematics and related fine arts were. A sole bridge connected it to the main. Left all alone, Magnus relinquishes a wavering breath. He fetches his smokes out from his back pocket.

“Yo Magnus!” The second he looks up Magnus’s smile has eviscerated off his lips. He doesn’t have a second to react when he’s all but flung off the stone wall. His cheek shreds against the rocks, sliding on his side. As he shifts back to his back, Hvitserk hops off the stone wall onto the gravel effortlessly. The other two brothers have moved behind Magnus’s side.

“Hvitserk–” He appeals to his older brother to yet no avail.

“Shut the fuck up.” Hvitserk says, clicking his lollipop around his pearly white teeth.

He saunters forward, grasping a fist full of his blond hair. Rocky shards dig into his back and side, leaving hot marks along his shredded skin. He knows that being led through the sidewalk into the parking lot behind the vocational building’s red brick walls spells trouble– but none as troublesome as when his face collided with the window of a car. Not once or twice, but three times before Magnus is tossed into another, rippling alarms going off.

“You think you can steal my fucking woman?”

The blood spilling from his eyebrow obscures his vision of Hvitserk coming forward. Another pressure comes behind him. Magnus realizes someone has him underneath the arms, one punch after another punch after another punch while his cries are drowned out by the sharp alarm of a car whose owner was not coming out.

“I wasn’!” He makes out between the punches landing on his gut. His upper body fails against the firm hold.

“You’re taking her to the dance, aren’t you?”

Magnus chokes up blood when Hvitserk’s fist collides with his lips. Something pops because all he tastes is the bitter iron of blood. He’s slack in the arms of whoever is behind him, submissively shaking his head a hundred times. When he fails to answer, Hvitserk grasps his cheeks, colliding his head into Magnus’s with a nasty crack.

“No! You take her!” Magnus makes out in thick, bloody bubbly words. The Ragnarsson holding Magnus drops him to the cement floor, cracking his aching body yet again. But it isn’t the end of his assault. The tip of Hvitserk’s sneakers collides with his nether regions as if he were trying to punt a ball across the parking lot instead.

“What? Now she isn’t good enough for you?” He accuses.

“That’s not what I meant!” Magnus sobs.

“Fuckin’ coward.”

Hvitserk shuffles on his heel– and there’s a blinding pressure against the side of his head. After that, Magnus doesn’t remember much of anything. He remembers the clear blue sky bursting with black splotches before its all encompassed into darkness. When he comes to, the hush silence of an empty hospital room is cut with a mechanical blip-blip of his vitals upon a dark monitor.


	2. II: Be My Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hvitserk has his ways of getting what he wants.

With Magnus indisposed, there was little else he really needed to do. The little orphan shit would probably be sitting in a hospital room all tonight waiting for Aethelwulf to come see and take care of him. That meant he had the night with his brothers alone. A certain little jewel was bound to show up– heart broken and sobbing.

Hvitserk’s eyes were trained on the staircase where everyone came through. An arch of faux snowy icicles was surrounded on either side by yeah, more faux white trees that made Ivar rant all night about why put blue ornaments on something that wasn’t even alive. He hardly gave a shit. He was too busy being fussed over by Margrethe, petting his dark tie stuffed into a slender vest. Margrethe had been clinging on Ubbe and him all night, drinking some harmless drink spiked with the tiny bottles of booze snuck in. They had their ways. Margrethe was pleasantly drunk, teasing her fingers through his honey hair and affectionately pushing a snowy dusted cookie into his lips.

“Hvitserk.” Sigurd said, his arm lazily draped about the small of Blaeja’s waist. He had been dating her for years.

“What is it?” Hvitserk grumbles past the powder coating the back of his throat.

“(Y/N).”

As he looks up, he realizes that shit– you are here. The dress is sinfully short, glittering a silvery hue around your mid thighs. The spaghetti straps modestly cover your cleavage but hell, Hvitserk knows better than that. It looks rippable. Perfectly rippable.

“Do you have a date? Mistletoe, y’know.” He can hear the photographer say over the dreadful lull of Christmas music in the background. You shift on your fall, glittery heels and look around. Probably for a certain someone. Hvitserk slips from beside Margrethe.

“That’s me.” Hvitserk calls– trotting up on shining shoes to you.

“Oh, Hvitserk.” You say, finding that Hvitserk would slide his hand underneath the flaps of your glittering bow along your waist.

“May I?” He asks.

Softly nodding, you allow for Hvitserk to pull you in, chest against chest. You’re statuesque when Hvitserk leans forward, tilting his head to catch your lips in a sweet kiss. His lips are soft, gentle. Your heart begins to flutter– he can feel the excitement you feel. Hvitserk’s own chest bursts into glee when you shift your head to the side to kiss the Ragnarsson back, gliding your lips past his before you pull away with your manicured hands cringing on his chest. In the sweet kiss, you hadn’t noticed the flutter of the camera. Hvitserk had and quickly brought you toward the itchy faux trees.

“I thought you were coming with Magnus.” Hvitserk can’t wipe the sweet smile off of his lips. Your thump wipes some of your lipstick off his lips.

“He never picked me up.” You explain. “I thought maybe he misunderstood and came over here… but he’s not here either.”

Or at least, Hvitserk assumes, that you could see. You pull out your phone to see if there were any new messages– but low and behold there were none. Hvitserk glances at the lack of messages, reminding his dumb ass not to grin like an idiot. Not when you looked so shattered. He wipes a stray tear from your inferior eyelid, sure not to mess up your beautiful smokey eye makeup. God, he wanted nothing more.

“Well fuck.” Hvitserk laughs at last, unable to help himself. “You can still be my date. If you want?”

You puff out your lower lip adorably. “He… did seem excited for me to go with you. So… maybe?”

An awkward space of air between his lips and you allows you to continue your pensive thought. “Alfred and Aethelred haven’t seen him. I’m… worried.”

Shit. He almost felt guilty but when you gently stroke his upper arms, all that is thrown out the window. He’d gladly do that again. He rubs the small scruff of his chin, looking back to Ivar who catches his eye– all alone. Hvitserk turns back to you.

“Maybe he was doing you a favour. Since I couldn’t get you to agree.” Hvitserk suggests, turning you in the direction of his brothers and lacing your fingers with his. “Come on, don’t worry. Let me introduce you to my brothers. I’ll get you a drink.”

Strolling back to his favourite place; the food table with your hand delicate on top of his was like carrying off a trophy. Very easily snatched from his idiot illegitimate brother, he was beaming ear to ear when Ubbe handed him his plate of sugary sweets. Hvitserk hands you a drink– spiked with something, you can tell. It’s probably just booze, he can see you reason.

“This is my brother Ubbe.” Hvitserk motions his head to his brother. “Our girl, Margrethe.”

Hvitserk says as he turns back to you. It’s a curious look in your eye, hiding behind a swoop of pink as you take in the news. If he didn’t know better, he could have considered you momentarily jealous.

“Oh, uhm, hi.” You wave, glancing up to her. Margrethe begins a small smile when Blaeja waves excitedly with her hand around Sigurd’s. He knows you’re well used to Blaeja– she was as sweet as the chocolate on his strawberry.

“And this is Ivar.” Hvitserk looks over to his brother, sitting alone with his crutch in his lap by the table. His brother was always alone– even at home. He came into the house, ignoring his big brother who shared the home with their mother.

“(Y/N).” Ivar grins.

“Hi again Ivar.”

There’s a trill in your voice– the same one he swore he heard every fucking time you were with Magnus. Just a few notes sweeter than he heard you say his name. Hvitserk drops the strawberry on his plate when you leave his side, heels clicking to sit right by his baby brother. Ivar scoots his seat to the side to allow you to sit, the billow of your skirt pulling up uncomfortably for Hvitserk.

What if Ivar was looking at your thighs, those sweet fuckable thighs?

Strike that– he was looking at your legs. He could see his brother doing the motion with his tongue. The one where something was just a little too hot for him, teasing the outer corner of his lips. Suddenly you’re bantering together more than Hvitserk has seen all night, flipping your hair and playfully slapping his leg once. How did you do on Harald’s test? Perfect, as usual. Oh then you’re the one who got the hundred. Of course.

It burns. Before he realizes it, he’s standing in front of you. He kneels down with his hands on his knees and licking the sugar coating his lips like the faux snow on the floor. Hvitserk turns his head slowly, voice quivering.

“Weren’t you my date?” He says, warning. “Or my brother’s?”

He couldn’t contain himself. He watches as you shyly pull your pink hair behind your adorable ears and nod. “We could dance?” You glance up to him. Somewhere along the way, his infamous cherry lollipop has found its way back into his mouth. He sweeps it from his lips and rolls it upon your lower lip.

Open. He doesn’t even say it, but you seem to have caught on enough to pop your lips open for him. As good as a submission, Hvitserk stands upright. “Ah shit, come here.” Hvitserk helps you up, twirling you around to face in front of him. Your arms loosely slide one over another with his hands lightly keeping yours wrapped around your midsection.

You’re making me impatient– he whispers in your ear. He could almost swear that you had a slight smile as he guided you to dance like any damn woman should have at a winter formal. A dance on the floor, a drink. A dance on the floor, another drink. It wasn’t just you after all, Margrethe was pleasantly drunk and yet so was Blaeja. It quickly became time to leave before the chaperones became wiser to the Ragnarssons’s little plans.

One of your silken hands came up to his nape as you both waddle back out into the cool chill air. Your body– pliant. He laughs in time with yours, waddling back until your knees hit your father’s car parked behind the football field.

“Fuck you’re drunk!” He pulls his cherry lollipop from your boozy lips, shoving it back into his own while easing himself between your legs. This was what he did– hooking his fingers underneath cute cheekie panties that he guided lower and lower down your lips.

“I’m bleeding.” You mumble as the thin fabric falls to your ankles. Hvitserk chuckles, smearing the blood over his slacks as he replaces himself back between your legs.

“The fuck would I care about a little blood?” Hvitserk laughs, bringing your hand down to feel his swell. He watches you curl up shyly, feeling the firmness of his cock behind his slacks. But beyond that– he knows you’re deathly curious for just what he has behind his slacks.

“Because I haven’t really…. Y’know?”

No, not at first. He didn’t know at all what you meant. Not until is lollipop was pushing itself into a sticky viscous hole. You were fucking tight as shit, clamped down on the lollipop like it was a part of you. His hand fought to fuck your pathetically bloody walls with his sweet treat. He won the lottery as far as he was concerned. He digs into his pocket, slipping out his knife. Then with one fluid motion of his wrist, flicks the straps of your dress cleanly apart. You gasp, snatching up your dress.

“Don’t worry.” Hvitserk slips his lollipop out. It falls to the ground, the shatter replaced by the rustle of his belt. “You had to lose it at some point, right?”

Hvitserk leans forward as his pants slide down the curve of his ass. His hand curves into your hair, raking your locks back harshly. “It’ll feel better when you’re gushing all over my dick. Won’t you?”

You bite back a nod and look to him meekly. It’s not good enough for Hvitserk, who yanks your hair back with his breath fanning your lips. His other finger grazes your nipples peaking in the cool winter air. Other people are walking by but Hvitserk doesn’t give a shit. The Winter Formal isn’t over. He’ll have his fun.

“Tell me how much you want me in this filthy pussy.”

His inquisitive question– more like a demand. His length against the seam of your lips forces you to nod for something you never were ready for. “Please give it to me.”

His finger leaves your breast, pulling himself up completely to look you in the eye. A tension aches your neck from his grip on your hair, pulling and expecting that you would look into his eyes with the same fervor he had in the moment.

He’d never forget that long, dragged out gasp when his tip pushed forward. It would cement to his memory forever; how deeply you gasped for him to keep going. An agonizingly slow push forward left your walls pulling apart around him, melding as if milking him for his seed. Different from sex with loose Margrethe whom all his brothers enjoyed.

“Magnus never fucked you.” He laughs, slow at first. “I thought for sure he had.”

Hvitserk keeps you from sliding off the slippery surface of the car with his hips against yours, long strokes making your muscles utterly sing around his cock. He swept his hips down completely, kissing your warm cervix as you gasp out in shock.

“Why are you talking about him?” You mumble in your spiked haze, focusing on him with every sweep of his hips filling you full of this one night date. Maybe it was the booze, but you felt lax and willing to hook your legs behind his hips, flicking your hips up and making even Hvitserk whine in pleasure.

“I thought it was his.” Hvitserk looks down between your bodies to the small space that allowed him to see your fluids slicking his cock. He should have put on a condom, he suddenly thinks, but it doesn’t matter. He’s going to do it, massaging your sweet little button over and over with his thumb until you’re utter putty in his arms.

Screaming so loud that surely Magnus in the hospital could hear how easily he’d gotten it. “But its mine, pretty princess. It’s mine!” He cackles, working your clit as he could. His mouth dips down to attach to your breast, a mean suckle at the breasts that jiggle with every thrust. The more he moved, the more you wanted. The more you wanted, the more pleasure built up like a spring in your stomach. Finally you let it loose, cumming on his cock with tears spilling over your cheeks.

“Shit! Cumming all over my fucking cock!” He snarls. It hits him in harsh doses, the milking of your muscles pulling him deep and the loss of his sticky seed deep in your cunt. He pumps his seed deep, shaft tensing and relaxing as he lost his seed. Thick spurts send his seed deep inside of you– and finally, Hvitserk pulls out under the whooping of some odd strangers at such a venture. Hvitserk feels the blood drying on his cock, dipping down to pull your panties back up with blood and spunk now soaking his fingers.

“You’re mine now.” He whispers, leaning over you for the second sweet kiss of the day. But this one– it had might as well be a lock and chain.


	3. III: Little Bro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hvitserk and Reader visit Magnus.

Last night was a great blur.

There was a massive blinding ache pulsing not only deep in the back of your head, but shit, you felt a soreness deep in your core. It was strangely akin to the ache of menses– but different. Strange… achy.

“Mmm…” You rustle one way, but then, you find yourself stopping when you couldn’t roll any more. You growl as you rustle toward the warmth in the warm sheets, radiating like your own little space heater in the room.

“Soo you’re awake.” A voice breaks through your calm moment, popping your eyes open like something spring loaded. You’re not in Magnus’s room. You’re not in your room. Not even in your friend Asta’s room skimping around in pastel pjs and asking if she wants to make dream cakes. You’re in the Ragnarsson’s home. Breast against Hvitserk’s flat chest with fluffy blankets surrounding your naked waist with a crushing migraine. Your hand snaps to your forehead with a soft moan. How were you going to explain this one to your parents?

“Princess?” Hvitserk slides you onto his very naked body. Very naked because you can feel his soft shaft steadily twitching underneath you.

“Do you have a headache?” Hvitserk’s voice is pathetically light like the fluffy clouds fluttering outside Hvitserk’s pristine white framed windows. At least his grey walls distract you from the blaring light.

“A little. How did I end up here?” You say, resting back on his shoulder. Hot warmth fills him, relaxing his head back onto the pillow while stroking your back with lazy fingertips.

“You really don’t remember?” He laughs. “We had sex.”

Oh. Ohhhh, you didn’t recall that. You recall when things went into a blur, somewhere between a few different drinks. You recall a sole kiss and… that’s right. It was all over your father’s car while bystanders whooped and cat called Hvitserk as they left the winter formal.

“Oh… “ You murmur. “That was my first.”

Hvitserk doesn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, you told me.” He said as if he’s heard this before. He probably has too. Before you switched from a school on the outskirts of town, you heard the Ragnarssons had quite a reputation. Save poor Ivar whom most were afraid of.

At last you sit up, regretful for doing such a thing with the world spinning. Hvitserk throws off the sheets and ambles towards his closet.

“Lets get you somethin’ for that headache.” Hvitserk slides over to his closer, creaking the metal hangers across a pole.

“My dress?” You ask.

“I destroyed that thing.” Hvitserk laughs, finally pulling out a black top and tossing it in your general direction. “Sorry if its a little tight.”

“Um…” You wear an animated frown as you slip the meager fabric on, uncomfortable with the tightness about your breasts and hips. It reaches about the meaty middle of your things, but tighter than a tube dress. He notes that he’s forgotten– women have curves.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work with my brothers.” Hvitserk brings his lower lip into his mouth, staring for only a few minutes before walking over to the door.

“Mor!” He howls.

Minutes later another woman appears in the doorway. She’s nearly as tall as Hvitserk and possesses a willowy, but subtly curly figure past the honey finger waved hair that tumbles down her back.

“What is it Hvitserk?” She asks, gliding into the room like something out of one of your bizarre monthly dreams of ethereal figures.

“I ruined (Y/N)’s dress. Could you find her another one?” He asks.

The foxish woman looks to you, freckles kissing her pale face. “You finally brought her home.”

There’s an awkward pause in which Hvitserk turns away, doddling off to the shower with his hand in his hair. Then, with her hands folded in front of a crisp black wrap dress, she flicks her head into the hall.

“I thought you were dating Magnus.” She says. You step into the hall behind her; feet against shining cream marble. You clear your throat softly, ignoring the beating of your headache. You’re in this woman’s home after having spent a night in the arms of her son. She probably already thought you loose to begin with.

“Magnus is just my best friend.” You say, pulling a piece of pink behind your ear.

The home is large and rooms seem to be endless. Where one hallway ended another began. Which, you thought, was bizarre considering Aslaug had heard him. At the end of the third hall on this second floor you found her ushering you into her lush room.

“Hm. He must like you to bring you home. He usually fucks his women of the week out of the home– just like Ubbe.” She opens another door extending into a large room, probably as large if not more so than your room. Shoes and bags are neatly stacked. There is a lovely vanity and comfortable bath. She walks to a coffee coloured round island in the middle of the room where a dark vase holds puffy white flowers.

“I don’t know about that.” You say while she looks through her wide array of slips. She takes one out and offers it to you.

“He’s never been so obsessed.” She smiles foxishly. Obsessed? You change into the slip and thank her, finding your way back towards Hvitserk’s room for your phone. The water in his bathroom is still running and you easily locate your purse on his nightstand and plop down to search after your phone. Oddly, nothing from your parents. It takes a little closer inspection to find out why.

_I’m staying the night with Asta. 😊_

It wasn’t a rare occurrence. Your parents trusted you. 18 and far from stupid– but it certainly wasn’t you that sent that faux message to which your mother simply replied: _Call us tomorrow._

The next unread message was your dear friend in question.

_Dude, did you really go with Hvitserk?_

_I didn’t mean to._

You respond, dropping your head back onto his fluffy pillows. You can hear Hvitserk humming in the shower, low and steady. You exit back into your messages, seeking out Magnus’s name. But there’s nothing new.

_I thought you were picking me up?_

_Or maybe I’m meeting you there._

_Magnus?_

It’s precaution. That itch deep in your stomach that saying to just call Aethelred. Brnnnng, it rings once– then twice. On the third, his even voice clears.

“Where are you?” Aethelred says immediately.

“What do you mean where am I?” You reply.

A pause on the other line. “You’re not with Asta– and Magnus is in the hospital.”

The falling water seems to drown out with the emptiness of your thoughts.

Again, Aethelred reiterates. “Where are you?”

Your throat is suddenly dry, the silentness of your mind crests over into a million racing thoughts– how selfish! You should have looked for him! What a sad excuse for a friend you were. If you had just…

“Who are you talking to?”

On the other end of the room, Hvitserk is dripping over the floorboards. A toned arm holds onto a fluffy white towel around his slender waist. His slender chest rises and falls with forced exhalation.

“I… I just.” You stutter. “Aethelred um, send me the room number and hospital?”

“Sure.” He grumbles. “But are you with him?”

Hvitserk crosses the room in a few heavy strides. It’s not as if you feel as if you are responsible to explain yourself to Hvitserk. After all, he was no boyfriend. He… as just the friend that you left your virginity to last night on your father’s car. No one at all.

“Can we please talk about this later?” You squirm just as Hvitserk snaps the phone out of your hand.

“I’ll take my girl by.” Hvitserk hisses, hitting the red button on your touch screen without so much as a goodbye. The change in the air is palpable. It’s like a sear on your skin. As if you hadn’t been tormented enough by your failure to care for your best friend– but now you feel like a whore under his eyes. Hvitserk drops the phone onto his bed, shaking out droplets of water out of his short honey locks. You’re suddenly distracted again, beads of water dribble down his flat chest over his belly.

“You gonna go shower or what?”

* * *

Magnus hates the white of the hospital.

The tiles are cool and lifeless just like the limpid colour of the walls. Everything is so… so… clean. The only noise is that of the monitor clicking in response to his heart rate. Every so often the machine clenches down on his finger.

“Did she answer?” His voice was craggly. Since he had woken up– he had been doing a lot of waiting. Waiting for his ‘father’ Aethelwulf, wait for his adoptive brothers in place of the brothers that never, ever accepted him.

They never would.

“Knock knock!” There is rarely an excitement like when you were about to see him. Magnus takes the remote of his bed to mechanically push himself to sit up, a beaming smile on his lips when you bubble in on an adorably powdery pink spaghetti dress, spinning around on glittering heels with white flowers.

“(Y/N).” He wheezes, sitting up when you set down the flowers on top of his feeding table.

“I brought you pho! I didn’t really know if they’d let you have it but who cares!” You exclaim. Alfred moves the flowers over to another table when you almost literally throw yourself on top of him, weaving your hands through buttery blond hair. He laughs enough to make his chest hurt with his ribs expanding to struggle for air.

“I’m so sorry.”

Soon he realizes that the little giggle he loved– wasn’t a giggle at all. It’s a long sob, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks to his scratched jawline. Magnus raises a scuffed up arm to yours.

“Hey, don’t be.” Magnus says, fondly, pulling back enough to rub the tears away from the corners of your eyes. He knows you wanted to come sooner. But maybe that’s why he asked Aethelred to wait until the dance passed, assuming you went with Asta. He was too out of it to be awake long yesterday anyway. “It’s not like you did this.”

A second later, there’s a clearing of a throat. Long, obnoxious– and you both separate to see who it is. Magnus’s hand immediately flinches to the railing when his eyes meet with the newcomer.

“Hvitserk.” He grips his railing of his bed.

Standing in the doorway with a lone, cherry lollipop and a warm leather jacket, Hvitserk wears a great shit eating smile. “Hey, little bro.”


	4. IV: Not My Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus is shitless. You don't know why.

He could have passed for stone.

His older brother was here. Here in his space. The one place that was meant to be safe. Aethelred and Alfred visibly shift in their seats as Hvitserk twists the round, cherry red lollipop in his mouth. He looks to his adoptive brother in something of awe, then back to you.

“Um. H-Hi, Hvitserk.” Magnus stutters. “I didn’t know you were uh, coming.”

His older brother jams his hands into his pockets as he strolls closer to his brother’s bedside. The grip on the sterile white railings of his bed tightens. Hvitserk rolls the lollipop to one side of his cheeks.

“Yeah? Thought I’d come along to see how fuckin’ bad it was.” Hvitserk stops a few inches short of his head. He reaches out to grab Magnus’s head, thumb at his temple before angling him in his direction. He tries not to wince as Hvitserk nods his head slowly, deliberately.

“Yeah, you look like shit kid.” Hvitserk laughs a bit too openly.

“Hvitserk.” You say.

“It’s not like he doesn’t know, (Y/N).” Hvitserk releases his brother’s head.

Magnus’s eyes falls to the white bracelet around his wrist. The splotchy black letters read ‘Magnus Mercia’ and boy are they a lot more interesting than looking at Hvitserk with his blotchy bruised eyes. You clear your throat, looking over to Aethelred sitting by Alfred. The two brothers exchange looks before Alfred garners the courage to speak up.

“If you have him, (Y/N), we’re hungry.” Alfred says. “Dad is coming when he gets off at five.”

You nod. “Of course.”

The boys filter out the room while you sit beside Magnus on his bed, reaching out to take his hand. They had a definite shake. “Are you okay Magnus?” You ask.

One look into Hvitserk’s eyes tell him all he needed to know. He quickly lowers his eyes again and presses the button on the side of the bed. He excuses it on pain. His ribs are shattered. Cracked this, sprained that he laughs. Pain medication was sent by god! Even as he was given a healthy dose of whatever pain killer he was on, you knew something was bothering him.

“How did this happen?” You ask. Yet he says nothing. His mouth has gone dry in his seeking out a response. He didn’t remember how he ended up in the hospital. Most likely, a teacher had found him. Maybe campus police too. A monitor? Either way he knew that knews of finding a kid beaten in bloody would get around.

He doesn’t need to look at Hvitserk to know that his older brother is just daring him to say something out of line. So he doesn’t. “My memory is kinda foggy, ya know? I’m sure I probably got or something.” Magnus excuses.

“Who would want to beat you, Magnus?” You bring his hand up to your lips, kissing the small iv taped down on his palm. He wants to die. No, literally wants to die. Hvitserk’s heated glare is angled in his direction with every little touch running across his skin.

“Uh.” He says.

“Uh?” You repeat.

“I mean, I’m sure they have a reason.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Now, uh, why don’t you get out of here? I’m kinda sleepy.”

“After someone come beat you?” You shake your head. “What if they want to come back?”

“They probably already got what they want. Are you watching too much Strong Woman Do-Bong Soon, again?”

After all, its not for nothing that you had shown up here with Hvitserk. He had won you like a prize. Perhaps, in a way, that scares him. But if he beat him enough to put him in this place, he could easily beat him enough to finish the job. He wished he had the courage to tell you about Hvitserk. Maybe… but not here.

“It’s addicting!” You squeal.

Magnus grins just as brightly. “Go finish it with your new boyfriend. I’m sick of seeing you.” He teases. Normally, Hvitserk would have been putting someone in their place– but why the hell would he want to be in this hotel? He’s sure that is why Hvitserk says nothing.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You laugh.

“I’m not?” Hvitserk finally chimes in, stuffing his hands into his leather jacket. “Could have fooled me the way you were screaming last night.”

There’s a sudden silence. Magnus says nothing– how could he with such a revelation? He was sure what Hvitserk meant. He had managed to sleep with you.

“Uh…” He raises his hand to the back of his neck, ignoring your eyes shifting back to look at Hvitserk. “I mean, you can do tons of that with Netflix.”

“Spoken like a Ragnarsson, little bro. C’mon (Y/N).” Hvitserk laughs— and Magnus should know better than to treasure those four little words.

“Well… okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Magnus.” You stand back up looking for your jacket before following him out the door. Finally, Magnus feels if he could exhale a breath. 

Somewhere along the way, Hvitserk’s arms slip around your waist. You amble down the hall– waddling under his soft kisses against your jawline. You giggle softly, pulling his short strands of hair playfully.

“Why won’t you call me your boyfriend, hm?” Hvitserk asks, letting his hands cross one over another around your waist. “We’ve had sex.”

“Sex isn’t the only thing that goes with being a boyfriend.” You say just as you both step out of the automatic door, cool Danish air nipping your skin. He twirls you around to face him, flicking the white, flaky step of his lollipop away. His red stained lips are on you in a second, drawing his hands over your ass despite the long top you have on. He squeezes your ass as his lips cusp over yours, devouring you. He waddles you back, hitting a swirling cement pillar of the hospital. Your lips break apart from his and Hvitserk responds by raking his teeth over your plump lower lip, popping off while Hvitserk looks around, stuffing his hand down your cute warm leggings.

“But its the best thing.” Hvitserk teases, massaging your labia despite the fact that the hospital is very much an open lay out. There are hedges– but otherwise, you can hear the sob of older women. The jovial laughter of a new parents strolling out to await their valet to deliver their car.

“Hvitserk, they’ll see.” You say.

“So let them see.” He responds, “It’s sex, not a crime.”

“Last time I checked it was!” You say.

“Don’t be a pussy, (Y/N). I know you want it.” He shifts you back around, shoving your hips against the cement pillar. Your fingers scratch the cool pillar while Hvitserk shoves your leggings below your ass, unzipping his pants. There’s nothing you can say to fight him anymore– and the tip of his cock nudges your entrance. Any of your protests are quickly drowned out when Hvitserk’s dick shoves deep inside of your walls. His hands clasp onto your hips and in response, you find stability in holding his hand.

“Fuck you’re still so good.” Hvitserk whispers in your ear, kissing along your neck. You’re not accustomed to this– being so full with him so deep. His hips roll, guiding his cock in between your needy walls with every thrust.

“Hvitserk…” His name falls breathily off your lips like the coolness of the cold air against your skin. The pillar doesn’t hold much cover. Not with another building behind you– but the blinds are pulled shut by the window you’re by. Maybe… maybe no one will see his hips tensing and relaxing as he seeks his pleasure out from your pussy.

“C’mon babe, don’t be so tense.” He says, hilting his cock deep enough to swirl his hips in your filth. He knows you could easily want this. What did good girls want more than a good dick to embarrass them in front of everyone. He knows at least that chubby older lady with a bob that is doing nothing for her has noticed, pulling out her phone as if to dial the hospital police.

Fuck her. She’s not about to rip this amazing feeling out from under him. His hand slips into your front, using you as a toy down his cock. No doubt he doesn’t have time for you to get into this, sliding his fingers against your folds and up to your clit. His long fingers tweak your clit, rubbing it over and over for a quick orgasm that has him quaking in his high tops. Your pussy is quivering around his big dick, milking him of his seed until he at last gives it to you with sharp pounding moans.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Hvitserk pumps himself deep, damningly away of the old lady claiming some nasty kids were like rabbits! His fingers massage out your own orgasm– and Hvitserk has to see it for himself, using his other hand to angle your face to him while finishing you off. You puff out smooth cries adorably and despite this only being a clitoral orgasm, he has plans for so much more.

“C’mon, cum bucket.” He glides your leggings over your ass, stuffing himself back into his pants as he grabs your hand and darts in long strides that leaves you stumbling to keep up. “I’ll take you on a date.”

As he darts for his bike– followed by the raging old hag and an angry cop, he knows that you will be too fucking embarrassed to come back. Hvitserk Ragnarsson always had a plan.


	5. V: Jumped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hvitserk doesn't take shit seriously. Not the teachers and certainly not his assignments.

The weekend flew by.

Lucky for you, Magnus had been insistent that you didn’t have to come back because– well, he heard of the honey haired boy with the man bun and the girl running off in giggles out behind a pillar. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. Your parents seemed none the more wiser to what was going on. Perhaps it wasn’t even their business! You were grown! You could go with whoever you wanted to–

Not that you were sure you wanted to go out with Hvitserk in the first place.

He was devoted to his brother Ubbe and his shared girlfriend Margrethe. It all seemed very… temporary. As if everything could change in an instant. Was that ever something you wanted? No… you think, probably not.

“You were at the Ragnarsson’s?! With Magnus in the hospital!” Asta is shrill, beating her black sneakers on the gum pasted concrete.

“Shhh!” You look around from the rod iron fence hiding the football field in green, white and red. It was spirit week. Your crimson mini skirt sported a snowy white underskirt and your hair was high on your head, tumbling down your back. You spun around on red and white sneakers. “You can’t let anyone know!”

“Why not?” Asta tucks away her blazing red hair behind her ear, the underside of her hand marked by handmade tattoos. You even had one– the rune of Jera on your ring finger looping around like a ring. You remember how much trouble you had gotten into after that little stunt with Asta.

“Well I… guess I’m not sure how I feel about him. I don’t want other people to go running their mouths either.” You both turn the corner into the small cottage like cafe. The bell on the door sings as you both walk in. Roasting coffee beans and fresh pastries waft into the cafe’s warm air, a comfortable escape from the morning cold outside.

“God morgen!”

One of the two older women call out from behind the wide glass displays of treats that stack like no ones business. There were so many! You bubble up, light on your feet coming up to the cash register. Asta comes beside you, knocking you in the side as you order your typical… plus, a few cherry tarts. Not for you but–

“Psst, (Y/N)!” Asta digs her elbow into your side. You hand over your card as she does. A particularly achy jab has you at long last turning your face up to her, hands balled up on your hips.

“What is it?!” You snap. Had you been more attentive to the company in The Starry Nite cafe, you would have noticed the dull eyes of Margrethe staring nearly through you. Her teeth drop that prick her cheeks almost like sharp razor blades, sinking through your skin. You feel as if you’re not the only one thinking of razor blades when she catches your eyes.

“(Y/N).” Ubbe steps from behind Margrethe’s stony figure. “I thought Hvitserk wanted to pick you up.”

“He did?” Asta speaks. “We could have met up after school!”

Ubbe stands like a great wall between Margrethe and you. You’re almost thankful for that… because, at the least, you don’t have to look into her eyes. You focus on his chest, tugging the sleeves of a snowy white hoodie that wasn’t yours at all over your palms.

“(Y/N).” The older woman at the cash register knows you by name. She’s your saving grace behind her silky brown bob and smothering fat curves. You slip by Ubbe and Margrethe to grab your coffee and treats, handing Asta’s hers.

“I’ll wait for you in the car.”

Ubbe sweeps out of the room. Oh god– oh god, he’s left. Even with Asta beside you, your whole body begins to feel hot and it was neither due to the hoodie or the warm coffee in your fingertips. The dewey slick of sweat under your hoodie breaks out, intensifying when the older woman comes by.

“Here you are Margrethe.” She hands her a straight black coffee– and something wafting of Snickerdoodles despite clearly being roasted coffee as well. Asta pulls you past, but just as you pass her, you hear the words that fall from her lips.

_You’re really stupider than I thought._

You wonder just what she meant. Your mouth is full of pastry before you know it. Asta walks beside you along the frost of the floors. It had taken you minutes to get to school, listening Asta prattle about jeeze, that assignment coming up in Biology that– oh god.

“Hvit and I haven’t finished it!” You shriek.

“You still have a day or so.” Asta spoke around a powdery soft doughnut. She’s snarfed down a few by that point. She didn’t know what it was like to be with a Ragnarsson. Despite her words, you are already rounding the rod iron gates of the school for the old main.

* * *

“It’s due on Wednesday!”

Hvitserk was taking this so lightly, it was sickening. Never once had you met a man with such little regard for his grade. He reclines against the wall where he was at with a fluffy cherry tart between his nimble fingertips that tinge red. He had snarfed down a good half of whatever you had in that white paper bag.

“Don’t tell me about it babe.” Hvitserk chuckles, popping the last bite into his mouth.

“I just did! Science paper. Due. Wednesday!”

Hvitserk leans his hand out, raking a line of cherry sauce across your puffy, pink stained lips. He flicks your lower lip and pushes his thumb into your mouth. It’s only been days since you lost your coveted innocence to this man, but he has began to train you. Your mouth suckles around his thumb, sucking clean the taste from his salty fingers.

“Yeah, see? That’s better.” Hvitserk flicks his thumb out of your mouth, booping you on the nose. “Things work out a lot better when you shut your little whore mouth and listen to me, right?”

You nod– and Hvitserk replaces his hateful words with a small laugh, lowering his hands to the glistening belt buckle keeping his pants up. There is a soft whurr of his zipper sliding in an agonizingly slow lull, filling your stomach with apprehension.

“Now, get on the fucking floor and suck my cum out of my balls, princess. If you’re good– I’ll even keep you company for this paper or what the fuck ever.” With a bored jerk of his cock, Hvitserk dips his hand into his leather jacket– seeking out the one thing that he always wanted on a cold morning: a very cherry lollipop.

What if someone saw? Heat rose to your cheeks, looking about the empty hall. It was early and in this little nook downstairs, where monitors rarely came, you weren’t really afraid of being caught by them. Only the others that came around. You don’t want to disappoint him.

“That’s my princess.” Hvitserk worships from behind his lollipop as you sink down, raking your fingers over his leather jacket and hips to bring chills to his bones. Squating on the ground before him, however, you aren’t sure what to do. His cock is of a good girth, long with the outline of blue veins across its shaft. You’ve seen enough online– but never in person. A sudden tap between your vibrant red skirt, across white lacy panties that are as thin as they came, entices you forward with sloppy, wet licks along the underside of his shaft.

“Shit I forgot you’re a cute lil virgin.” Hvitserk laughs softly, allowing your tongue to travel across his crown. You massage his slit with the tip of your tongue, spiteful to his words– a cute lil virgin! You ease your mouth over his tip, inch by little inch to show that you could be a good girl like Margrethe, too.

“Don’ worry, (Y/N). I fuckin’ love teaching virgins. Fuck.” Hvitserk is full of glee, bending his knees just so. His hand comes down upon your head, grabbing the base of your ponytail. “You even made it easy for me with this cute lil pony.”

The bell tolls in the speakerphone, a reverberating little ring that has your eyes shifting. Hvitserk tugs your hair back, sinking within your mouth like a warm pussy inch by inch. “Nah-ah.” He warns. “Focus on my fat cock in your mouth.”

How could you not? The last few inches of him nearly have you gagging under his size, wet tears building at the sides of your eyes from the force. It’s not that he doesn’t taste– just wonderful. He does, he more than does. It’s too much when Hvitserk’s sneakers flex, grazing your soaking pussy underneath. It’s an invitation for you and you quickly take it, grinding your pussy down over him. You’re nothing but his toy, taking his frantic thrusts with your temples screaming out in pain and protest. At long last he wells over, flushing his cock deep down your throat. His milky seed pumps inside of your mouth, causing you to gag and pull off of him with a few wheezing coughs.

“That’s gonna stain.” Hvitserk extends his hand out to you, allowing you to take it. He pulls you to stand, winding his arms around your waist and snuggling for a second. He’s almost cute when he snuggles. Then, with a low huff from his lips, he releases you to tuck himself away.

“C’mon, don’t you have history or some shit?” His fingers reach out to lace in yours, forming excited bubbles coming to the surface to delight your cheeks. You’re deadly excited but– one thing bothers you. You don’t ever remember telling him your schedule.

* * *

AP World History.

If you did the reading– it was an easy pass. For you, certainly it could be a bit heavy with your AP Science and dull literature class… but you were managing. Managing well despite everyone saying that you would do so bad. The old man, your teacher, pulled his stool up to sit with a jaunty sway.

“Before we begin.” He says, chalky hands dusting his beard gray. “I’d like to talk about Magnus.”

The seat Magnus usually took beside you was empty. He loved to sit by the windows, though cemented locked as they were, the birds would stoop on the edge of the building. It was lonely without him to be there with you, pass notes and drawings while giggling about silly Greek passages. You glance to the empty desk beside you.

“While we don’t usually involve students in adult issues…” He speaks as if half the class wasn’t already rearing to graduate and get the fuck out of this school. “Captain Aethelwulf has asked for assistance in locating the students whom jumped and beat Magnus last Friday in the parking lot during lunch.”

Right after you left him all alone.

“If you’ve seen anything, or heard anything, come talk to any instructor in private. Now, that’s all to be said about that.”

Your professor wipes his puffy hands and turns away– walking back to the chalkboard. Your book is open, but you aren’t looking at it. Your eyes avert to your phone in your lap, lit up with a message from the very man your mind flits to.

Hvitserk

Meet me at the library after 5th period.


	6. VI: Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did he... really... do it?

At lunch, you thought it was a little peculiar that Hvitserk wasn’t blowing up your phone. Primarily because Hvitserk was always blowing up your phone. Since he had gotten your number last year, he had been trying to get you all alone.

_Guys get hot when you walk around in miniskirts, you know that right?_

_Teach me how to do this shit._

_Can I talk to you about the dance tomorrow?_

Those were some of the few messages you had gotten mistakenly over the last few years. It didn’t occur to you that Hvitserk was so… adamant about having you until you thought of Margrethe’s words as your feet took you down the stairs to the library on the first floor of the old main building. You held the railing as you made your way down through the security measures that made soft little beeps as you walked by.

“Princess!” Hvitserk slides behind you, thrusting his arm over your shoulder. You give an adorable little yip of surprise as he slid on his heels, kissing the top of your head. Shhh! The librarian shrills. Hvitserk flicks his head her way, amused.

“You look fucking delicious in my hoodies, you know that? I never saw a girl wear ‘em better.” He comments, guiding you to a secluded table.

“Not even Margrethe?” You turn up, combing your hands through the high ponytail curled over your shoulder. He reaches to pull your seat out before sitting himself, teasing the powdery pink lock of hair that first called his attention to you.

“Fuck no. She’s too uptight about being fuckable all the time.” Hvitserk chuckles. “Why’d you ask that, huh?”

“It’s just…” Your words fall dryly on your tongue. It’s just that she warned you about him? Or was she trying to take him away from you?

“She going around spitting lies about me?” He asks.

Something in your gut says to say nothing about it. So you don’t, reaching into your bag to pull out your binder for class. You lay out all the important papers while Hvitserk studies your features, scooting his chair closer. His clothed knees hit yours. You know what he’s doing, more so when he looks to where the librarians are. Otherwise occupied with a class of younger students. Hvitserk looks back to you, letting his fingers slip between your thick thighs.

“I fucking love girls that wear miniskirts all the time. You know that right?” He whispers in your ear. You force yourself to pay attention to the articles you had printed out a while ago for this very paper, but his finger grazing your cute panties is distracting! “It’s like they were made to be fucked.”

“Hvitserk they’ll see.” You state.

“What’s with you thinking we’ll be seen all the damn time?” Hvitserk whispers in your ear, eyes glancing up to the pair of librarians running around like chickens in a coop. “They’re busy.”

But your conscience was too.

Something about this isn’t sitting well. You can’t exactly place it… but you wish you could. You turn to Hvitserk, spiraling your fingers along his baby soft chin. He leans into the touch as if for once, you took his breath away. You guide his chin closer, lips almost grazing his slim ones. Then so suddenly, you speak, lips teasing his small moustache.

“You didn’t hurt my Magnus, did you, Hvitserk?”

Not the words he was expecting as you can clearly tell from the way his fingers stop teasing you. He tightens his brow and guides your hand under the table to stroke his cock, hard against the soft material of his joggers. It’s enough time for him to compose an answer.

“Like I’d do that shit.” He snorts. “You’d drop my ass if I beat him up.”

He wasn’t lying. You would drop his ass if he had been the one to assault Magnus. Hvitserk draws back, gliding his hand up from between your legs to your chin. His thumb caresses your lower lip, almost affectionately.

“Tell me you don’t think I did that.” He says. His request is more of a statement. Your hand loosens on his cock, finding yourself unsure. More unsure when he gives you that wild look as if he has something to prove. Of course he had something to prove, you think. You accused him of an assault landing your sweet Magnus in the hospital. It should be someone else… but who else do you know that has an issue with your Magnus?

“No.” You force a smile. “I guess it wasn’t you.”

Hvitserk knocks your legs apart again, massaging your pussy through soiled panties. Then he scoots himself closer, letting you explore his cock through the soft fabric of his trousers. It still… it doesn’t feel right. You want to tell Hvitserk to fess up what he is hiding but his cock under your hand feels all the more right, especially as his hand tenses to massage you through your suspicions.

“Besides, Margrethe is just jealous.” Hvitserk grumbles, leading his other hand back onto the table top as if to mimic looking at one of the many papers that he should have been to ‘help’ you in this paper. You fully know that you will be up late at night working on it, fuming about your so called boyfriend. Err– fuck buddy. Fuck buddy was good. He should have been too. Except if he came over you would really not be getting anything done!

“Jealous of what?” You ask.

“You.” Maybe that really shouldn’t have felt as good to hear as it did.

* * *

It still didn’t sit well with you.

Magnus was a good student. He could care less for being the big, bad Ragnarsson that his half brothers were. You always knew how much he desired to be accepted by his brothers even though he never was. That was the chief reason supplying your refusal to date Hvitserk. If he wouldn’t give Magnus the time of day, you wouldn’t give him it either.

Alfred and Aethelred were in the room with you. Your seat beside Magnus full for once in the past four days. The two brothers had not spoken about your absence but you knew they both had their own opinion on it. Magnus stares down at the tablet on his lap, propped up by its case on his lap.

“Why the hell does he want to make Bong-Soon his wife?” Magnus asks rhetorically, reaching for a steamed bun with barbeque pork stuffed inside. His favourite from a little mom and pop restaurant.

“I dunno, he’s kind of cute though.” You say, flushing. “Why do they always make the villains cute?”

Magnus shrugs. “Hvitserk’s cute.”

“He isn’t a villain, though, is he?” You laugh in response. Magnus loses the little smile on his lips, looking down at his lap. He excused it on a mouth full of steamed bun, swallowing a little forcefully. Your curiosity peaks enough for you to edge onto your seat.

“What?” You say, looking to Alfred, slouching in his seat with his fingers inches in front of his eyes. The brothers all look like they have a secret hidden. Magnus doesn’t have the balls to admit what happened. Nor does Aethelred.

“Magnus?” You reach out, tipping his battered chin up. A few stray tears glide over his high cheekbones over his jawline, marked by stubble from being unable to shave. Your head tips lightly.

“He says your boyfriend jumped him.” Alfred says in full confidence. Your head turns to Alfred, considering what he just said. It… it should have been a shock. The rest of the week you had been thinking about You look down to your white miniskirt, smoothing over the pleats while Magnus sits saying nothing.

“Magnus, talk to me.” You lean up over the side of the bed. He was supposed to be released back home with Aethelred soon. “You can tell me anything.”

“…I was just high off the pain medication when I said that.” Magnus whispers, using his blond hair as a shield. It’s as good as an admission. You climb onto the bed knowing that the nurses might scream at you if they came in on this exact moment.

“Did Hvitserk jump you?” You ask.

“I dunno.” He responds. Magnus is covering. You know that he is– and your heart is crumbling in his fear. You lift up his cheek in your palm, stroking your thumb over his bruises. His eyes slip to the side, the tell tale sign that he is lying.

“If… you’re lying for my sake, Magnus, please… I’ll find another man.”

“Who is to say his brother won’t come back if you leave Hvitserk?” Alfred sighs, pushing himself up in his chair. “That is what this whole thing is about. You, right?”

There is no other possible explanation. Tensions between Magnus and his brothers had always been… high. But it’s something else completely to know that Hvitserk would really jump his half brother over you. You can’t make sense of it.

“I… don’t understand.” You murmur.

“In any case.” Alfred goes on, flicking his fingers in your direction. “Magnus won’t press charges. He won’t testify. There is no case.”

That doesn’t console you. It all feels like its welling in your frontal lobe like a fist. Magnus clears his throat, looking toward the door. You quickly get the hint that he would prefer it if you weren’t there. You snatch your sweater from the chair and start on your way out with no other words spoken to your best friend of his adoptive brothers. Magnus might not have spoken– but you know that Margrethe would.


	7. Chapter VII: A Tumble

Margrethe’s new apartment was a step up from her shit in the bucket home that you remember visiting when you both did a project together last year. This new place was lovely and despite getting this information from a friend of a friend, you weren’t all that nervous to visit her. Maybe you should have been shivering outside in Hvitserk’s hoodie, pulling your purse in the front of your miniskirt. At the top of the second level of the apartment complex, you loosely knock on the front door. 

“Oh Ubbe you’re--” Margrethe whirls the door open to see you standing there, a shy pink lock of your curled ponytail whirling about your shoulder. She groans. “--here.” 

“H-Hi Margrethe.” You hum, clearing your throat lowly. She drops her weight onto her other leg, chewing on some snappish piece of minty gum. 

“What do you want?” She asks. 

“I came to ask you something.” You shiver in place, remembering why your mother asked why you were wearing a hoodie and a miniskirt all at once. 

“Right…” She gives a lax chew of her gum, grunting in agreement as she holds the door open for you to come in. Her home is simplistic with almost obsessive albums of the Ragnarssons decking the walls. You step in, doddling into the living room to stand in the large windows that lead out to a wooden balcony overseeing the apartment’s pool. If you had to guess… it wasn’t her that was paying for this new place. 

She stands in a silky, powdery pink robe. You finally know what Hvitserk meant by constantly wanting to look fuckable. She has a beachy wave in her hair, matching the glittery eyeshadow across her ever constant annoyed looking eyelids. Rather than ask you anything, she pompously clears her throat. 

“Um.” You rake your foot over the fuzzy ground. “I-I was just wondering what you meant in the cafe.” 

It must have been a stupid thing to say because her chest swells with a scoff. She exhales air as she treads around you, curling your hair in her finger. Your eyes roam over her french manicured finger tips-- tugging your hair in her direction.

“Don’t have enough sense in your brain to make it out yourself, don’t cha?” She relinquishes the hold on your hair. 

“Well I…” You look for your own excuse. Maybe you already knew what she meant… but it was easier to hear it from someone else’s lips. She gives you a short, exasperated puff off her lips. 

“You said no to him for Magnus so the boys took him out. Are you that stupid a bitch not to put two and two together?” 

The breath you draw feels thready at most, winding a bolus of ever growing anxiety deep in your chest. You lean into her, your skin crawling with Hvitserk’s hoodie feeling like itchy wool on your skin. You peel it off, standing in a thin spaghetti strap now. She snaps it out of your hands before you can say anything else. 

“Hurry up and break up with him before it gets harder on him.” 

Him? You think aghast. He was the least of your worries! It was your sweet Magnus who was caught up in just what Alfred had said. He had been caught up in Hvitserk’s chaos. She had always been one to boast of the threesomes she had with Ubbe and Ivar, sing praises of Hvitserk’s tongue and Ubbe’s eagerness to watch to you. You lean forward, snatching the hoodie right from her fingers. 

“That’s my decision.” You snap a bit more heatedly than intended. You never considered the thought that Hvitserk could still be fucking Margrethe. In fact, you didn’t know why you cared. He was insane. 

“You’re going to stay with a guy who jumped your best friend?” She gives a small tsk. As if you had fully intended on staying with him walking in here. Never--but you’re more than annoyed with her assumption that she could jam herself in and tell you just what to do about this precarious situation of loyalty. 

Sad as it was, Magnus would never have spoken up. 

“I think that is between Hvitserk and I.” You say as you pass right pass her toward the door and down toward the flight of stairs, ripping it open. A burst of cool, winter air snaps her back to a sensible mind. Or not so sensible. 

Her hand connects with your back-- in that instant, you know that you’ve vastly underestimated the woman. She talked a lot of talk, sure, but you never thought her capable of the fleeting, flightless sensation whipping you down concrete steps. Your vision goes splotchy when your forehead cracks the cold bottom floor and Margrethe slithers back into her apartment like a snake for its hole. 

_“Miss?!”_

* * *

Deja Vu. 

“Wasn’t I sitting here last time?” Magnus sits beside you, trying to lighten the mood. You glare over at him as if to tell him to shut up. 

“Magnus, have I ever told you how much shit to eat?” You pout. He leans over with a pair of metal chopsticks baring your favourite chicken bibimbap. Feeding you a bite, he tweaks your nose cutely with those chopsticks.

“All the time man.” He says. 

Whatever happened is still kinda a blur. You were supposed to be in here while they evaluated how badly cracked your skull was. Not as bad as Magnus who was taking his medicine religiously. You sigh, resting back with huff blown to your pinkish hair that falls in your face. Yeah, whatever happened was a blur-- but you remember going to Margrethe’s home. 

“Ubbe said he wouldn’t tell Hvitserk yet.” Magnus says, looking over his shoulder to your mother laying asleep on one the couch in the room. You point toward your purse, making him hand over the phone. 

“That’s fantastic.” You say, your voice piquing in sarcasm. 

Ubbe had been coming in just at the same time that you were going out. You weren’t exactly sure if it was him or someone else who found you, but shit, you wonder what Hvitserk would do if he found out. 

“It’s better than nothing.” You sigh, swiping your phone unlocked. There are at least ten messages with your near constant banter with Hvitserk who was trying his damn best to be your man lately.

 _You ignoring me, babe?  
Clingy ass_, you respond sweetly. With not one heart-- but two. 

Magnus sits with his blond hair in his eyes, head lowered. He always does that when he has something to say but can’t really convince himself to say it. You set your phone onto your chest before heaving a sigh. 

“You keep dodging me like a bullet, Mags.” You begin. “I know you have to hate him.” 

Magnus shakes his head, exposing a purplish bruise just under his eye. Your mother shifts onto her side. If she found out… you don’t mind it. You’re grown. A fresh eighteen years old where you could do what you wanted. 

“I don’t hate him.” He cuts you off quickly. “He’s my brother-- I just…” 

Don’t belong. You wish that you could make it better for him. As a best friend, there is a great desire to just… make it better. You can’t make them accept him.

“He beat you.” You say again. 

“Yeah, can we just change the topic?” He folds his arms. “I’m kinda sick of hearing it. What about you?” 

Hmm? You hum. 

“I mean Margrethe-- uh, she’s jealous.” He mumbles. “Don’t you think she’s gonna like… pop again?” 

Probably an option. If she was the one that had pushed you down the stairs like you damn well know, it would happen again. You know what you need to do… but its not exactly what you want to do. He was your very first. Special-- wrapped up in deceit. Any woman would have been appalled by what he did to Magnus. Let alone his baby brother. 

Even if Magnus didn’t speak up, you knew that it would hurt anyone that their best friend was with someone that physically assaulted them to the point of being thrown into the hospital. You sink into your chair. 

“Don’t matter.” You sigh. “I’ll break up with Hvit when I get back to school.” 

He begins to stutter that it’s really alright! He’ll be fine! It’s more than that… it's the pure deceit. If Hvitserk had only asked Magnus, you were sure that Magnus would have came to a solution to let him take you to the dance. He always went for you instead. You raise your hand as if to shake him off.

“Let’s dye my hair. I need a change.”


End file.
